Untitled Story
by Bohemian Anne
Summary: Yes, that really is the title. Ruth, Rose, and Jack are Titanic survivors, each living separate lives, Ruth believing Rose dead, Rose believing Jack dead, and Jack suffering from amnesia.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"God almighty…" Ruth heard Molly exclaim in disbelief. She was leaning against Molly in an effort to stay warm and because she was in shock. It was really happening now. The stern was completely out of the water and the screams of the doomed people still on board were the only sound piercing the frigid air. She shuddered under the piles of clothing she wore. Rose. She closed her eyes as the tears came. Her girl was most certainly one of those screaming thousands. What an idiot she had been.

"_Go back and turn the heaters on in our rooms. I'd like a cup of tea when I return…"_

She remembered giving the order to Trudy. That was immediately before they had all learned the fate of the ship. She forced herself to think of a different scene. One where Rose was safe on a different boat. She must have come to her senses and gotten into a boat. Hadn't she? Perhaps Cal had persuaded her to return. She had seen him chasing Rose down the deck. What was so important to Rose that she would risk her life by not getting in the boat? Jack Dawson. That was the only thing that could have possibly persuaded her to go back. She silently cursed his name. This was his fault. How could she have let her daughter get mixed up with him? She couldn't bear to think anymore and stared into thin air, trying to block out the horrifying scene playing out before their eyes.

XXXXX

Hours had passed since the ship had gone under and the sun was starting to break on the horizon. It had been unreal; the sheer number of people she had seen thrashing around in the arctic waters. She hadn't the strength or the will to agree with Molly when she pleaded with the crewman to go back and attempt to save some of them. Now all they could do was wait. Wait to die…wait to live…no one knew. The only sound had been the sobbing of the other women in the boats and the lapping of the water against the sides. She saw a man stand and wave a flare in the air. She gazed in the direction he was looking and saw the vessel coming towards them.

XXXXX

Rose shivered violently beneath the blankets inside the boat. Everything seemed to go in slow motion. Her mind felt so clouded. The voices she heard were thick and muffled. A fog surrounded everything she saw. She thought back about just a short while ago, which seemed like hours, days even.

"_We're gonna make it Rose. Trust me…" Jack said confidently._

"_I trust you!" Rose replied, not so confidently. They were really going into the water!_

"_Ready! Now!"_

She heard Jack's voice echoing in her head. That had been the last thing she had heard him say and then he was gone. His hand was ripped from hers as they went under…just like he had said would happen. She had tried to call out his name over and over, but it was useless in the virtual sea of screaming victims surrounding her. She knew that she had to act fast and get out of that freezing water. She swam almost frantically to find something, anything that would hold her out of the water. Jack had been right about the pain of the freezing water. It made it very hard to move her arms and legs to swim. Just then, she saw something that might hold her up. It looked like a piece of the carved mahogany paneling she had seen in the halls leading to the dining room. She desperately struggled onto it, almost capsizing herself back into the icy death of the water. Finally, she settled on her stomach and was shivering violently. She had never felt cold like this…the wetness of her clothes only exaggerating it. She couldn't think about anything but how cold she was and the pain.

She felt the cold overtaking her. Things were starting to quiet down as the cloud of death descended on them. It took its victims slowly, one by one. She looked to see that the man who was blowing the whistle had fallen asleep. She was sure that soon she would do the same. She turned on her back and stared up at the stars. How long had she been here? Where were the boats? Did they not care to save the few remaining people? She sang to herself the same song that she and Jack had shared. As she sang, her voice was silenced by the sheer coldness of the air. She moved her lips but heard no sound escaping them.

She turned her head and heard her frozen hair breaking as she did it. She saw the angel of death coming toward her. It was a light moving back and forth. The light got closer and she thought she heard the angel calling out to her.

"_Hello!"_

"_Is there anyone alive out there? Can anyone hear me?"_

The light turned and went past her. Was the angel leaving without her?

"_Come back! Come back!"_ she cried out in vain. The cold had stolen her voice and made it an inaudible squeak.

She rolled herself into the water with a big splash and tried to reach the man with the whistle. He seemed to be miles away from her. When she finally reached him, she held the whistle tightly in her teeth and blew through it. The shiver in her breathing could be heard as the sound of the whistle pealed through the frigid air.

"_Come about!"_

She heard the voice call out and saw the light turning back towards her. She kept blowing the whistle until her breath was gone and everything faded into blackness.

XXXXX

She came back to the present now. She continued to shiver under the blankets. She could hear splashing outside the boat and wondered if the angel had continued to choose the doomed people to take along. She closed her eyes then and let the angel take her to her final destination, wherever that might be.

XXXXX

When she opened her eyes again, she had stopped shivering but was still very cold. Only her eyes showed through the blanket and she could see the sun rising from far off. The beams tried to warm her face. She realized then that she was not dead after all. She had been rescued. She was going to live. She saw the ship approaching the crowd of boats and read the name Carpathia on the side. Soon she would be safe on the ship and then she would begin her search for Jack. Jack. She had not thought his name until then. She had been surviving and all other thoughts took a distant second until this moment. She had to try to find him. He was a survivor, she remembered him telling her as he tried to put her in a lifeboat. He must be alive. He must be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Jack felt his hand being pried away from Rose's. He reached out frantically, trying to grab it again, but she was gone. Everything was black and he couldn't tell which way was up. He wished he had put on a lifebelt now, because he could not make his legs and arms move together. A wash of water pushed him now. Was he going down? Just then, his head broke the surface of the water and he gasped for air. Immediately, his ears were assaulted with the screams and cries of the thousands of people around him. He called out for Rose again and again. He soon knew she would not hear him over the screaming masses. He knew he needed to find something to help him float, for his strength was leaving him quickly. He saw some large pieces of debris floating a ways from where he was and decided to try to swim to them. He quickly realized that this was not possible in the icy water. Suddenly, he felt someone yanking his collar.

"Here. I'll help you. Come this way."

It was a man with a lifebelt who had seen him trying to swim for the debris not too far off. He was now dragging Jack through the water as they made their way. When they reached what looked like an overturned table and a folding chair, they were able to climb up and out of the freezing water.

"I'm J-Joshua Landsley," the man said between shivers.

"Jack Dawson," Jack said, as he shivered, reaching for the man's palm to shake it.

"What shall we do now?" Joshua asked.

"I guess w-we w-wait," Jack replied. "It will just take them a f-few minutes to get the boats organized and then they'll be c-coming b-back."

"I h-hope you're right, lad."

Jack tried to breathe evenly, but his violent shivering made that increasingly difficult. He hoped he was right. He knew they wouldn't stand a chance if they didn't come back.

A long while passed and he looked over at Joshua. They were huddled close together now and Joshua appeared to be struggling.

"L-look at the lot of them," he said as he looked out on the sea of floating bodies. "J-Jack, it's so b-bloody cold. I d-don't think I'm to make it out of this one."

"I know, J-Joshua." Talking to the man seemed a lot easier, even though they were strangers "T-try to hold on. The boats will come back. They h-have to. I d-don't know about you, b-but I intend t-to write a s-strongly worded letter t-to the W-White Star L-Line about all this." He tried to smile.

Joshua nodded in agreement. He knew he was doomed. Jack seemed a lot stronger than he did.

XXXXX

What seemed like an eternity passed until they were safely onboard. She hesitantly started looking into the faces of the people being brought onboard, searching for Rose. Just then, she heard a voice behind her.

"Ruth!"

She turned to look into the face of Caledon Hockley. He half-embraced her. She looked at him expectantly.

"Where is Rose?"

His eyes told her she was not with him. She collapsed into him, sobbing, as he tried to comfort her.

"I couldn't stop her, Ruth. She went to find that boy, that steerage trash." Cal spat out the last words. He thought it best to leave out the part of her jumping from the lifeboat for now.

"How could you let her go just like that?" she yelled between sobs. Her Rose, her only child, was really gone.

Cal held her uncomfortably, not knowing what his next move should be.

"Ruth, I will go search for her. Perhaps she and Dawson were able to board a different boat. If she is on this ship, I will find her," Cal said, trying to sound hopeful.

Ruth nodded silently. He had let her go. She had thought Cal had loved her daughter. Then why didn't he run after her and _force _her into a boat?

"Thank you, Mr. Hockley," was all she could manage to whisper. She would not let herself put her hopes into Cal. She couldn't. She had to accept that her daughter was gone and not coming back. She shrank into a nearby chair. A steward offered her tea and she gratefully took it and drank in the warmth.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Cal trudged slowly through the crowds of people. He came to the stairs leading down to the main steerage area and continued looking over the crowds as he descended.

"Sir, you won't find any of your people down here. It's all steerage," he heard a steward tell him.

Ignoring the man, he continued scanning the people. Many of them were weeping. Others sat quietly, awaiting what was next. He came across a figure and his gaze stopped to study it. It was a woman with a long coat wrapped in a blanket. When he moved closer, the woman pulled the blanket up over her head and turned so that he could not see her face. He stared at her for a few moments, until she got up and went inside. He knew now that Rose must indeed have perished in the sea with her beloved gutter rat. He looked at his feet then and rage filled his mind. Cal always won, or so he thought. Only this time he had lost more than he ever could have thought. The moans and sobs of the people around him brought him back to reality. He had to get away from these filthy people. He couldn't stand to be there one second longer. He hurried back up the stairs and back to where he had left Ruth. He had no idea what he would tell her or what he should do next.

XXXXX

Ruth sat in the common first class area, deep in thought. Molly was there, and was asking if there was a survivor list. She tried to think of what it would be like if Rose were here. She realized deep down that Rose had been unhappy with marrying Cal. Ruth had been in a similar situation when she was Rose's age. She had had a fiery spirit then, and had fallen in love with a man who was employed in her father's house. Her parents did not allow the relationship to continue, and had fired the man when they learned of their secret meetings. Instead, she had been forced into a marriage her parents had arranged with a wealthy banker's son. This tore her heart into pieces and she vowed to never fall in love again, even with her own husband. She did quite like him and he tried very hard to please her, but the love she had felt for her first was never completely extinguished. She buried her feelings deep down under the facade of happiness that was expected of women of her social status. When she realized that Rose had the same spirit she had had once, she knew she had to do everything she could to control her and prevent her from the same heartache she had experienced. Rose's will had proven too strong, though, and she realized her failure as a mother, not only in attempting to control Rose's every move, but also in forcing her into a marriage she did not want. Her husband had tried to persuade her to let Rose do as she pleased, but she had refused to give in. She thought she knew what was best for her daughter, and now she knew that what she thought was best had taken Rose from her.

What would happen to her now? She thought back to the conversation in Rose's stateroom…

"_Do you want to see me working as a seamstress? Is that what you want? To see our fine things sold at auction…our memories scattered to the winds?"_ She hadn't heard the selfishness in her own voice.

"_It's so unfair…"_

"_Of course it's unfair. We're women! Our choices are never easy."_

Just then, she knew what she had to do. She knew she had to mourn Rose in her own way, and the only way she could do that was to let the consequences fall where they may. She would not ask Mr. Hockley for any help or money. She would find her own way. She owed Rose's memory at least that. When they returned to New York, Ruth DeWitt Bukater would be a changed woman. The Titanic tragedy had changed many lives already. Why shouldn't it change hers?

"Ruth, honey, are you all right?"

Ruth's train of thought was broken by the sound of Molly's voice.

"You've been awfully quiet, sitting over here. I know you have a lot to think about right now. Why not come and get a bite to eat? You know you haven't eaten and you need to keep your strength." Molly tried to persuade Ruth to come with her to the dining room.

"I'm not hungry right now, Mrs. Brown. Thank you," Ruth replied lukewarmly.

"Molly…please, call me Molly. After all we have been through, these silly pleasantries won't get us anywhere if we can't feel comfortable enough to at least be on a first name basis, now can it?" Molly tried to make light of the situation.

"I'm sorry, Molly. It's just…I can't imagine what my life will amount to with Rose gone. She was my pride. My security, in a way." Ruth caught herself on those last words. Security. Had that been all Rose was to her? She started to cry when she realized how selfish she had been and sounded now.

"Shh…there, there, it's gonna work out for you, Ruth." Molly tried to comfort her. "We are gonna get you set up, and I will personally see that you do well for yourself. Nothing bad will happen, I promise you."

Feeling only slightly comforted by Molly's words, Ruth took a deep breath and looked at Molly.

"I appreciate you, Mrs. Brown…I mean, Molly…you don't know how it helps to hear that." Ruth tried to force a smile.

"You know, Officer Lowe over here says that there is not yet a complete survivor list. Don't lose all hope yet, honey. God willing, she can still be found." Molly tried to sound hopeful.

Ruth just nodded and sat back in the chair. Her mind seemed clearer for the moment when she saw Cal coming towards her.

"I looked everywhere…people…steerage…asked officers…no one has seen anyone like her…I…I couldn't find her, Ruth…I'm sorry…" Cal's voice trailed off and he had a despondent look on his face, like he had finally been beaten.

Cal turned his head away for what seemed to Ruth like better effect. She didn't know why, but she couldn't believe that he genuinely loved her.

"She was so precious to me, Ruth…I…"

"Jewels are precious. Good-bye, Mr. Hockley," Ruth said, coldly dismissing him.

Cal looked confused for a moment.

"Ruth, let me help you. I can see that you have arrangements made…"

"No, thank you, Mr. Hockley. I am quite sure that your offer is generous, but I must decline. It is the only way that I can mourn her without feeling completely guilty."

With that, she turned and walked away from him, with Molly close behind. She had a feeling she had not heard the last of him, but for now she was sure she had done right by Rose.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Rose sat on the deck of the Carpathia, gazing out at the endless blue of the North Atlantic. Third class passengers, mostly women, trying to get information about their lost family members, surrounded her. She felt the chill that still hung in the air, and pulled the thin wool blanket around her and up over her head. She was thinking back to a time just a day ago when she felt warm, secure, and happy.

"_Do you trust me?"_

"_I trust you."_

"_Step up…okay. Open them."_

"_I'm flying! Jack!" Rose gasped._

Rose closed her eyes and tried very hard to feel that happiness again. She imagined the sun shining on their faces and the security of Jack's arms around her. The only thing she felt, though, was the feeling of being stared at. She glanced slightly to her left and right and saw a figure behind her out of the corner of her eye. She didn't like this feeling and moved to go indoors. She secured the blanket around her and headed for the warmth inside the ship.

Once inside, she paused by the door to collect her thoughts. Slowly, she made her way down the stairs to the third class lounge. She had only stepped down a few steps when a woman not much older than she came running up the stairs, nearly knocking her down.

"Excuse me! Oh, I'm sorry…" the girl cried.

She was crying and her face was stained with tears. She spoke with a thick Irish accent and her curly hair was the color of copper. Her face was round and freckles made a sharp contrast to her milky white complexion.

"It's all right. Are you okay?" Rose asked.

The girl just buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

"I can't find them. Me family…they're all gone!" The girl wailed as she finished her sentence.

Rose didn't know what to do. After all, she had lost someone in this tragedy as well.

"What's your name? Perhaps you can check with the stewards…" Rose tried to calm the girl.

"I already tried that bit." The girl continued to sob. "Not a one of 'em's been on the list. I'm Cassandra Daly…" Her voice trailed off as she sobbed. "You can call me Cassie."

"I'm Rose DeW—just Rose," Rose replied, quickly covering her slipup. She had not decided yet on which name she would take. Keeping her own meant going back to her life and her mother and Cal.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Rose and Cassie stood together on one side of the deck of the Carpathia as it sailed past the towering Statue of Liberty. Rose could hear Cassie sobbing quietly, and she moved closer to her new friend to try to comfort her. Soon, they were both shedding tears for the people they loved and cared for who would not see it.

"Papa used to tell us how grand it would be to finally be able to come to America," Cassie said sadly.

Rose didn't know what to say to her. She had lost a man she had only known for a few days, but Cassie had lost her entire family. She felt selfish to have burdened Cassie with her sorrow without even considering that Cassie had lost so much more. She put her arm around Cassie's shoulders, and they continued staring out over the water.

It had started raining, and both of the girls were shivering in the cold. As Rose put her hand in the pocket of her coat, the cold lump that sat in the very bottom greeted it. She pulled the diamond out and gasped as it caught the light.

"Good Lord! What is that? A sapphire?" Cassie gasped.

"A rare diamond. It was a gift from a man I didn't love," Rose replied.

"Who couldn't love a man who could give such gifts?" Cassie shook her head.

Rose smiled slightly.

"He told me it was for royalty. But to him I was just another possession. A showpiece he could wear on his arm. With Jack, I felt like a queen. He didn't have a dime, but he gave me what no one else ever could. I felt like my existence mattered to someone."

"There are people who will pay a pretty penny for a gem like that, Rose. Maybe you should try to sell it?" Cassie offered.

"Right now, this is my only memory of Jack. I want to hold onto it. And the Hockleys will no doubt have some kind of insurance claim put on it." Rose looked at Cassie. "Please keep this to yourself, Cassie. I feel that I can trust you with this."

"I will hold your confidence, Rose. You are all I have now. If we stick together, we might just be able to make our way," Cassie told her hopefully.

XXXXX

Joshua sat drinking a cup of tea in the second class lounge. His thoughts were of what was to come when the ship docked in New York. Since Jack had been too sick to leave the infirmary since they first boarded the ship, he had been alone for most of the time, except for the occasional polite greeting or chat with some of the other passengers of his class.

"Mr. Landsley. Sir."

Joshua heard a voice behind him. He turned around to see the ship's doctor standing there.

"Yes, doctor? How is Mr. Dawson?"

"He has not improved in health and will require some attention when he returns to the shore," said the doctor matter-of-factly. "I was wondering, sir, if Mr. Dawson is a colleague of yours? A hired man of sorts, perhaps?"

"He is an acquaintance of mine, yes. Only recently have I come to know him. What kind of attention might he require?"

Joshua knew that he could not turn away from this incident without seeing that Jack was in good health and able to fend for himself. He was certain that neither one of them would have survived if they had not met in the way that they did.

"He has a fever and has been resting. He most certainly has pneumonia and will require close supervision in the coming days. If his fever does not break, I'm afraid the outlook is grim," said the doctor.

"I understand," said Joshua.

"If you will excuse me, please," the doctor said, and turned to leave.

"I will see that he is cared for," Joshua said to the doctor as he left the room.

"Thank you, Mr. Landsley."

With that, the doctor went out of the room, leaving Joshua where he sat. He took a deep breath to try to clear his head. He coughed a bit as his lungs took in the air. Being in that cold had certainly affected him as well, he thought.

Joshua had been planning what to do once the ship docked in New York. He wanted to help Jack, but how? He knew that Jack was not a rich man and would have a very hard time of things if his health was bad.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_April 18, 1912  
New York City_

Ruth stood on the upper deck of the Carpathia, looking out towards the Statue of Liberty and the city beyond. The rain poured down, drenching her, but she hardly noticed.

All of her thoughts were focused on Rose. She had known that Rose was unhappy with Cal, known that she herself would not have been happy with Cal if she had been engaged to him. But somehow, that hadn't seemed to matter. He had money, status—all the things that she had convinced herself were more important to her than anything else—more even than her daughter.

And now Rose was gone. There had been no trace of her found anywhere. Ruth had checked the survivors' list time and again, but no Rose DeWitt Bukater had ever been listed. She had even checked under DeWitt, Bukater, and Hockley, in hopes that the wrong name might have been listed, but to no avail. Her daughter was gone.

Ruth stared out at the city that Rose had so dreaded seeing, dreaded because it heralded her return to America and her marriage to Caledon Hockley. She would have given anything to see her daughter once more, to tell her how sorry she was, to allow her to break off the engagement with Hockley. She would even have given her blessing to Rose's relationship with Jack—but it seemed that he hadn't survived, either.

She lowered her head, grateful for the rain and darkness that hid her tears, scarcely aware that Molly was beside her, or that Cal lingered nearby, still uncertain what to make of Ruth's rejection of his offer of help. Vision blurring, she looked down at the steerage passengers on the deck below, seeing two flashes of long red hair, and quickly looked away, not wanting the painful reminder of Rose.

She turned from the railing as Molly tugged at her arm, leading her toward the gangway where the other first class survivors were disembarking.

XXXXX

The docks were crowded with people—reporters, White Star Line officials, family members waiting for word, and curiosity-seekers who had come to stare at the survivors of the worst maritime disaster in history.

Flashbulbs popped as they walked slowly through the crowd and reporters shouted questions. Ruth pulled her hat lower and put up a hand to shield her face, trying to avoid the barrage of questions.

Glancing back, she saw Cal surrounded by reporters, taking pictures and trying to outdo each other in asking questions of the richest survivor of the Titanic. Glad that they had found someone else to question, she followed Molly through the crowd to a waiting line of cabs hired by the White Star Line to take the first and second class passengers to shelter.

Once they were safely inside, Ruth asked Molly, "Why do they harass people so? Haven't we all suffered enough already?"

Molly just shook her head. "It's their job, Ruth. They have to find out what happened, no matter how much it upsets people. And maybe, just maybe, the stories of the survivors of the Titanic will help other people in the future—people who might find themselves in a similar situation. Maybe, because so many wealthy people were lost, it might help prevent such a tragedy from happening again."

And Ruth thought of Rose and nodded, hoping that Molly was right.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_April 18, 1912_

The steerage passengers were the last to leave the Carpathia. Rose stayed close to Cassie's side, more than a little bewildered by the crowds and commotion.

Rose wanted her freedom, it was true, the freedom to do as she pleased, live as she pleased, and love who she wanted, but she was fast realizing that freedom had a price. A person had to know how to survive on their own, or they wouldn't get far.

Beyond that, Rose liked Cassie. The girl had been there for her during those terrible days on the Carpathia, when she had often felt as though she couldn't go on, as though there was no reason to.

Cassie, too, had lost her loved ones in the sinking, and sometimes Rose felt guilty for how much she grieved for Jack, a man that she had known for only three days, when Cassie had lost her entire family and was alone in the world. Deep inside, Rose knew that she could return to her old life if things were too hard, but Cassie didn't have that option. She couldn't even return to her old town—there was no way she could afford the fare back to Ireland.

As the two young women left the Carpathia, Rose pulled Cal's coat up around her head to shield herself from the flashing cameras of reporters. To be sure, there weren't as many reporters trying to get stories from the steerage survivors as there had been for the first and second class survivors—it was late, many of the steerage survivors didn't speak English, and their stories weren't considered to nearly so important as those of the upper classes—but some still lingered, and Rose didn't want to take the chance of having her picture in the paper. She was determined to have her freedom, and she wouldn't get it if her mother or Cal found out that she had survived and came looking for her.

An officer stopped them at the end of the ramp, getting one last list of the survivors. "Can I take your names, please, ladies?"

Cassie ducked her head, looking at the ground as though to hide her tears. "C-Cassandra Daly," she stammered. "I'm Cassandra Daly."

Rose came to a decision as the officer turned to her. She couldn't go back to her old life, and this was the final step to breaking away. "Dawson. Rose Dawson."

"Thank you." The officer turned to the next survivors coming down the ramp, and Rose reached into her coat pocket, holding tightly to the cold diamond. It was done. Her old life was behind her.

XXXXX

Rose guided Cassie through the crowds and away from the pier. She may have been new to surviving on her own, unnerved and bewildered by the new life facing her, but she did know the way away from the docks. This had not been her first trip to Europe—she had been there twice before on vacations, and had gone to an expensive Swiss boarding school for a year before her parents had brought her home due to lack of money, though she hadn't known it then.

Cassie stared at the crowds and the reporters, even more bewildered by them than Rose was. Rose had been a member of high society, a group fawned over and adored by the papers, while Cassie had come from a small Irish town where getting any sort of notice in a major paper was a rare and shocking event.

"All these people…" she whispered, staring in a combination of fear and fascination at the milling crowds. Her eyes filled with tears as she saw an elderly woman who had survived the Titanic run into the arms of two young men, probably her grandsons. How fortunate she was to have them!

Rose had seen it, too, as had a number of reporters. Cameras flashed, capturing the scene, and Rose took the opportunity to duck farther into the crowd, pulling Cassie along with her. The steerage passengers were supposed to go through another health inspection, and then be herded along to various shelters if they had no friends or relatives waiting for them. Both Rose and Cassie were tired and grieving, and in no mood to wait for the health inspection or to be sent to whatever shelter might be provided. They'd had enough, and Rose feared that her mother or Cal might still be nearby, still holding out hope that she had survived.

When they were finally beyond the crowd, Rose stopped, pulling the coat down from over her head and letting the cold rain run down her face. They stood together in the darkness, not sure where to go next.

"What should we do now, Rose?" Cassie asked, shivering in her thin dress and shawl. "I don't know about you, but I haven't a penny to me name…"

"I do." Rose reached into one of the inner pockets of Cal's coat, pulling out a wad of bills. Glancing around to be sure no one but Cassie was watching, she counted it quickly, knowing that there was another wad in the other inner pocket.

The amount came out to just over a thousand dollars—more than enough for them to survive on for a while. She turned to Cassie, whose eyes were wide.

"Another gift from your fiancé?" she asked, staring at the bundle of money.

Rose tucked it back into her pocket. "An inadvertent one, I can assure you." She looked up and down the street, looking at the lights shining from the windows of the closely crowded buildings. "Why don't we try to find a hotel room for tonight, and tomorrow we can look for more permanent lodgings?"

"I couldn't let you pay my way."

"You've been a good friend to me, Cassie, and friends stick together. I can't let you wander alone in a strange city when I have the means to help you."

Cassie, too tired to argue, just nodded. "All right, Rose. But just for tonight. I'll find some kind of job soon and pay you back."

"You already have, Cassie. You already have."

Cassie just nodded, understanding what Rose meant, and the two women headed down the street, looking for a place to stay for the night.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_April 18, 1912_

Joshua sat beside Jack in the infirmary, wondering what to do. Jack had still not regained consciousness since they had been rescued from the freezing waters. He had been unconscious when Officer Lowe had pulled him into the lifeboat, the only sign of life being his faint pulse and the slight movement of his chest as he breathed.

It was likely that only Joshua would have been rescued had it not been for the fact that Lowe, in a moment of desperate hope, had checked the other man clinging to the table for signs of life. Jack had been alive, but just barely, and his condition had grown worse after that, in spite of the blankets he had been wrapped in. One of the men had tried to give him brandy from a flask to warm him, but that had only resulted in Jack's inhaling the liquid, hurrying along the pneumonia that had already been developing.

After he had been brought on board the Carpathia and brought to the second class infirmary, his fever had soared until it was dangerously high, reversing the effects of the hypothermia but bringing on a whole new problem. And in spite of the medicines he had been given, his temperature had dropped only slightly.

There was no way that Jack could fend for himself right now—his very survival was in doubt as long as the fever remained at such a high level. It had been lowered enough to keep him alive, but it had always gone back up within a short time. And now that the ship had docked, they would have to leave the infirmary.

Joshua had an apartment in the city, and some money, but not enough to pay for hospital care. And that was what Jack needed, if he was to have any chance of surviving. He looked at him again, then turned as the doctor walked up to him.

"Mr. Landsley, the ship has docked, so you and Mr. Dawson will have to disembark."

Joshua ran a hand through his hair, wondering what to do. He could bring Jack back to the apartment with him, but he couldn't give him the care he needed, and he didn't know anyone else who could, either. If Jack was to survive, he needed a doctor's care.

"Doctor, I'm not sure what to do now. I had hoped that the fever would break before we docked, but obviously it hasn't, and he needs a doctor to care for him."

"New York has a number of good hospitals. He can be admitted to one of them."

Joshua shook his head. "I don't have the money to pay for that," he admitted, "and I don't think Mr. Dawson has a penny to his name."

"I see." The doctor thought for a moment, then pulled a pad of paper and a pencil from his pocket. "New York also has several charity hospitals. They don't always offer as high a quality of care as the other hospitals, but under the circumstances…" He wrote down an address. "This is the charity hospital closest to the docks. The White Star Line has agreed to provide transportation within the city, and when the stewards come to clear the patients out of here, tell them to bring Mr. Dawson to a cab and give them this address. He will be brought to the hospital and admitted."

Joshua tucked the paper into a pocket. "Thank you, doctor. If you don't mind, though, I'll accompany Mr. Dawson myself, to make sure that he is admitted to the hospital in a timely manner and that he gets the care he needs. I live in New York City, so I will be able to make my way home from there."

"All right, Mr. Landsley. Just tell the stewards of your decision. It's probably best that you go with him, anyway, since he can't speak for himself."

Joshua nodded, turning his attention back to Jack. He listened to Jack's labored breathing, observing the bright flush of fever on his face, and wondered if the young man had any chance of surviving.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

_April 18, 1912  
New York City_

Ruth slowly followed Molly into the Waldorf-Astoria hotel, then stood quietly as Molly explained that they were Titanic survivors and that the White Star Line was paying for them to stay in the hotel. She didn't react as Molly signed the register for both of them and took two keys to rooms in the luxurious hotel.

Molly handed one key to Ruth and led her up the stairs. This was a hotel that Molly had stayed in more than once before, and she knew where she was going. When they reached their floor, Molly pointed Ruth in the direction of her room, then waited until Ruth was safely inside before unlocking her own door and going inside.

XXXXX

Ruth sat on the edge of the bed, shivering and hugging herself. Although her clothes were warm, and reasonably dry, she felt chilled to the bone. Slowly, she rocked herself, feeling silent tears slip from her eyes and run down her cheeks.

Rose was gone. How could she sit here, in this warm, luxurious room, when Rose lay dead at the bottom of the bitterly cold Atlantic? It seemed almost obscene. Ruth shuddered inside as she remembered her willingness to marry Rose off to a man she didn't love just so that she herself could continue to enjoy this kind of luxury.

_Rose, I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you just how sorry I am. If only you were here now, I would let you end the engagement to Cal, and be with that boy if you wanted. But he probably didn't make it, either, so I suppose you two are together. I hope you're happy, wherever you are._

Finally, Ruth got to her feet and walked toward the bathroom. The tub looked deep and inviting, but she hesitated as she looked at it. She didn't deserve this kind of luxury, not after she had driven her daughter to go back inside a sinking ship to save the life of a young man she had helped to frame. To be sure, she hadn't slipped the diamond into Jack's pocket, or told the Master-at-Arms to search him, but she had known what Cal had planned, and she had done nothing.

_Rose…Jack…I'm sorry. You'll never know how sorry I am._ Finally, Ruth turned on the water and began running a hot bath. She slipped off her clothes with more difficulty than usual, now that she had no maid to help her, and sank into the water. It warmed her outwardly, but inside there was still a deep chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

_Rose, how can I ever make amends for what I did? I can't bring you back._ Ruth closed her eyes and leaned back, her thoughts far away. _All I can try to do is become a better person. And to do that, I have to try make it on my own. I don't know what I'll do, but I have to do something. I can't go on as I did before, caring only for myself and not for anyone else. The sinking of the Titanic taught me that much—that life is precious, and that there's more to it than money and social standing. Rose understood that, but because I didn't, I drove her away, and now she's gone._

She would have to start a new life, make her own way in the world. It would never bring Rose back, but it would honor her memory in a way that nothing else could.

_Rose, my daughter, my only child…I'll never forget you, and I will do my best to honor your memory. This I promise._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

_May, 1912_

Rose leaned against the counter tiredly, wiping her hands on her apron, then reluctantly moved toward the entrance to the restaurant as another group of diners came in. She had been fortunate to find a job quickly, working as a waitress in a small café near the waterfront.

She had been surprised at first at how tiring the job was—the waitresses that she had seen before had always seemed so bright and efficient. Of course, she had only patronized expensive restaurants in her old life, and they could afford to hire only the best and most experienced. The waterfront café, on the other hand, was about as cheap and low class as a person could go. While the area where the customers ate was clean enough, the kitchen was grimy, with odd patches of grease and dirt on the walls and the occasional rat or cockroach boldly making their way across the floor if no one chased after them.

Rose was able to eat at the café at half-price if she wanted, but after one meal, she had wisely shied away from the food in the place. It was poorly cooked, either half-raw or burned, and sometimes both, and she had struggled with an upset stomach for several days after eating there. Having grown up as she had, she had never developed the ability to withstand the bacteria in the poorly stored, poorly prepared food, and it showed. She had lost weight since striking out on her own, although she was beginning to adapt, beginning to develop the ability to tolerate what others around her seldom even noticed.

She turned her head as she led the new group to a table, ignoring the whistles and catcalls as the men stared at her low-cut uniform. The café mostly catered to working men from the docks and the women, many of them of questionable reputation, who followed them. Rose wasn't comfortable with the uniform, though she had worn equally low-cut gowns as a member of the upper class, largely because some of the men assumed that her attire gave them permission to grab, pinch, and otherwise attempt to "flirt" with her. The uniform was shorter than any dresses she had worn since she was a child, revealing her feet and ankles, and they stared at them, too, though what was so fascinating about her feet was beyond her.

The job didn't pay well, but it was enough to pay her share of the rent and buy groceries if she was careful about her money and saved her tips carefully. The tips weren't great—not many of the customers had much money to begin with—and those who did tip well were often put off by Rose's refusal to flirt back.

Most of the flirting was harmless, she knew, even if some of the men did believe that they had the right to grope her, but she couldn't bring herself to laugh and go along with it as the other waitresses did—she was grieving for Jack, and didn't even have the heart to pretend to enjoy the attention, and she found the behavior of some men to be so boorish that it took all her self-control not to slap them or shout at them. She needed the job, no matter how distasteful it was at times.

In order to allow herself to buy the extra things that she needed or wanted, she had taken a second job at night, working as a stagehand for a small theater off-Broadway. It didn't pay enough for her to quit her day job, unfortunately, but it did allow her to see how the theater worked firsthand, and she hoped that it would provide her with the contacts she needed to become an actress. The current play was _Pirates of Penzance_, and she watched the actors and actresses with fascination, memorizing their every move and practicing at home when she had the time, hoping that soon she would be able to fulfill her dream of becoming an actress.

Rose stepped away quickly as one of the men—a regular—attempted to pinch her bottom. He grinned impudently at her. She kept her face carefully neutral, longing to slap the grin off his face and wishing that she didn't have to work in this place.

Cassie, too, had found a job, cleaning rooms in a hotel uptown, but there had been no jobs available when Rose had inquired. It was probably just as well. She could serve food and take orders well enough, but she didn't really know how to clean—though she was learning—and wouldn't have lasted long as a maid.

Her new life wasn't all that she had hoped, but it took time to make a new start, and still, aside from the obnoxious men she met as a waitress, it wasn't bad, and she hoped that soon things would be better.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

_May 1, 1912_

Joshua sat at Jack's bedside in the charity hospital that he had been brought to after the Carpathia had docked. Twelve days had passed, and Jack's condition had improved only slightly.

The young man had been in and out of consciousness the whole time, and had been only vaguely aware of what was going on around him when he was conscious. His fever had risen repeatedly, despite the efforts of the doctors to bring it down, rising to a dangerously high level two days after he had been brought to the hospital. The doctors had told Joshua to prepare for the worst, but somehow Jack had pulled through, though he remained feverish.

One doctor had told Joshua that the high fever might be responsible for Jack's inability to remain conscious and lucid. High fevers were known to damage the brain, and Jack's temperature had risen to one hundred eight degrees before finally being lowered to a safer level.

Now, Jack tossed and turned restlessly. He had been given tranquilizers to calm him down and keep him still, but in his weakened condition, the doctors had been afraid to give him much of it, for fear that it would kill him. Finally, they had tapered off the dose and simply restrained him so that he couldn't harm himself.

Joshua watched as Jack tugged restlessly against the restraints holding him down and mumbled to himself. He had said the same thing repeatedly in his feverish state, talking about someone named Rose and begging her not to let go of his hand, mumbling about how she deserved better than her fiancé, about flying and dancing, and a few things that had turned Joshua's face red with embarrassment upon hearing them.

He marveled at how he had come through the sinking virtually unscathed, except for a little hypothermia, while Jack, who had seemed so much stronger, was suffering so badly from pneumonia. He didn't understand why it had happened that way, but he felt a sense of duty toward the young man. It was still uncertain whether Jack would live or die, and if he lived, whether he would ever recover fully.

Joshua glanced at the clock, realizing that he had to leave for work. He looked down at Jack, who had calmed slightly, though one hand still tugged at its restraint.

"I've got to be going, lad," he told him, getting to his feet. "I'll be back later, and I expect that you'll be feeling better then." He shook his head, wondering if Jack had understood a word that he'd said, or if he had any comprehension of where he was and how long he had been there.

Joshua turned away and headed for the door. Jack's fate was in God's hands; it didn't seem that any medicine could help him now.

XXXXX

When Joshua returned that evening, his heart sank at the sight of a young nurse's assistant gently sponging Jack's face with cool water. It appeared that there hadn't been any improvement.

He was surprised, though, when the girl smiled at him and put a finger to her lips. "He's sleeping," she told him quietly. "It's the first good sleep he's had in days, poor boy." She pulled the sheet down and sponged Jack's chest and arms. "The fever's finally broken. It's nothing short of amazing—no one thought he would make it."

Joshua pulled a chair over and sat down, just as amazed as the girl. Jack had been ill for so long that he hadn't quite believed that he would ever get better, but now that the fever had broken…he might just have a chance.

Jack's breathing was still labored, but not nearly so much as it had been before. It seemed that he was on his way to recovery—at least, Joshua hoped so. It didn't seem right that he should have suffered this much, only to lose the battle now.

Half an hour later, Jack stirred, awakening slowly from his exhausted sleep. He looked around the room with a confused expression, then started to sit up, only to be overcome with a violent fit of coughing.

Joshua put a comforting hand on Jack's shoulder until the spasm had passed. When Jack finally lay back, Joshua sat down in the chair again, looking at him seriously.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. "You've been sick for so long, none of us thought you would live."

Jack gave him a confused look, but responded in a hoarse voice. "What happened? Where am I?"

"You're in a charity hospital in New York City. You've been here since the Carpathia docked almost two weeks ago."

"The Carpathia?"

"The ship that picked up the survivors. I guess you were unconscious when we were picked up, too."

"Picked up from where?"

"From the North Atlantic."

"What was I doing there?"

Joshua looked at him uneasily. "Don't you remember anything?"

Jack started to answer, but was overcome by another coughing fit. When it ended, he looked back up at Joshua.

"Are you a doctor?"

Joshua stared at him. "No, lad. We both survived the wreck."

"What wreck?"

Joshua looked down at him, more than uneasy now. "Where are you from?"

Jack gave him a puzzled look, wondering what the question had to do with anything. His confusion grew when he realized that he didn't know the answer. "I don't know…" There was an edge of panic in his voice.

Joshua shook his head, realizing that the high fever had indeed done its work. "What's your name, lad?"

Jack half sat up, his eyes wide with panic.

"I don't know that, either."


	12. Chapter 12

**UNTITLED STORY  
Chapter Twelve**

_May 2, 1912_

In spite of her vow to strike out on her own and start a new life, Ruth was still living at the Waldorf-Astoria two weeks after the Carpathia docked. Cal had called on her once, still not believing that she would really reject his offer of help, but she had refused to see him, asking Molly to speak with him and send him away.

There were times when Ruth thought she should have taken Cal up on his offer, but her grief for her daughter wouldn't allow it. It was Ruth's actions that had sent Rose to her death, and now Ruth could think of no other way to honor her daughter's life than to give up her society life and do whatever it took to make a life of her own.

The problem was, Ruth had no idea how to set out on her own. Her entire life, she had been sheltered, cared for, first by her parents, then by her husband. She had never had to do anything for herself, and furthermore, had never wanted to. Even when she had fallen in love with one of the servants, it had never occurred to her that marrying him would mean that she would have to take care of herself. She had few useful skills—she couldn't cook, couldn't clean, couldn't even fix her own hair. Everything had been done for her.

Ruth didn't even know how to seek employment. How did one go about doing so? Should she walk into different establishments and ask for work? And what could she do? She knew how to serve tea, to select the finest clothing made from the best fabrics, to plan a dinner party for a dozen or more guests—but she suspected that none of those things would be called for in the working world. And the few useful things she could do—embroidery, reading, speaking French and German as well as English—would there be any use for them? Was she even good enough at any of them to make a living?

She had never been taught to survive, to make a living. Throughout her childhood, Ruth had been taught that the one necessary goal in life for a woman was to find a suitable husband, and everything she did and was taught to do was done with this in mind. A woman needed a man to take care of her—or so Ruth had always been taught.

She had tried to teach Rose the same thing, but it had never quite sunk in for her daughter. Rose had always wanted to _do_ things, to live life on her own terms. Ruth winced inside, remembering how Rose had begged to be sent to university, to continue her education after finishing school. By that time, however, her daughter had been engaged to Caledon Hockley, and Ruth had seen no reason for Rose to go to a university. The purpose of university, she thought, was to find a suitable husband. Since Rose was engaged, there had been no reason to consider further education for her.

Ruth wished now with all her heart that she had allowed Rose more freedom, that she had granted some of her daughter's wishes for a more adventurous life. Some things had been out of the question, of course—even if Rose miraculously returned to life, Ruth would still not allow her to embark upon an African safari by herself—but would it really have harmed anything to have allowed her daughter to take part in amateur stage productions, to go to a university and study art as she had longed to do?

There was no use in wishing for what could never be—Ruth had known that for a long time now—but she could honor her daughter by living her own life to the fullest—if only she could figure out how.

She was beginning to learn a few things, slowly but surely. She had asked the maid who cleaned her room and assisted her in dressing to show her how to make a bed, how to dust, and even how to fix her own hair, though she found the last skill difficult to master and frustrating. She now resorted to twisting her hair up and fastening it with hairpins, determined to take care of herself now, at least in this.

The maid had looked at her oddly when Ruth had requested to be shown these things, but had done as she asked, regarding Ruth as merely another eccentric society woman. Ruth still felt clumsy and inept next to the experienced, efficient maid, but she was determined. She _would_ learn to take care of herself, learn to make a life for herself.

Ruth was brought from her reverie by a knock on the door. Rising from her chair, she went to answer it—another thing she had learned to do for herself, with no personal maid to do it for her. Molly Brown stood on the other side.

"How ya doin', Ruth?" Molly asked, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. Ruth still found many of Molly's actions startling, but was beginning to grow accustomed to them.

"I…I am doing as well as can be expected, Molly," Ruth replied. Since the sinking, Molly had become something of an advocate for the upper class ladies who had been widowed in the sinking, making sure that they were treated well, that their families came to get them before too much time had passed. Two weeks after arriving in New York, Ruth was the only one still under Molly's protective wing.

"I brought ya somethin'," Molly told her, handing her what appeared to be a garment bag and a hatbox. "I know ya said ya didn't want anything, but we're leavin' tomorrow and you really need some travelin' clothes. I bought ya some simple stuff—from the way you've been talkin', that seems to be what you want."

"Leaving?" Ruth stared at Molly, feeling a hint of panic rising inside. "Where are we going?"

"I have to get back to Denver. I got a telegram from my son—his boy, Lawrence, is recovering from his illness, but he's eager to see me and confirm to himself that I really am alive and well."

_Now what will I do?_ Ruth had been relying on Molly to help her through this time, but now she was leaving.

"Of course, you're comin' with me," Molly added. "Hence the travelin' clothes."

"I…" Ruth wasn't sure what to say. She realized that she had been depending on Molly far more than she should, given her vow to make her own life in her daughter's memory. "I don't know."

"Did ya want to go back to Philadelphia instead? I can help ya get there."

"No…no, I don't want to go there." That was the one thing Ruth was sure of. Philadelphia held too many memories. Beyond that, she feared that she would be tempted to take the Hockleys up on their offer of assistance, and if she was to honor her daughter's memory, she could not, would not, do that.

"Then where do ya want to go? If you've got no other plans, Denver's as good a place as any."

Ruth set the packages that Molly had brought on the table. She supposed that Denver was as good a place as any, but…it was so far away, so far from anything she was familiar with—far from the ocean that had taken her daughter's life. And if she went with Molly to Denver, how could she be sure she wouldn't fall back into her old society life? It was a different society, to be sure—newer, rawer, more nouveau riche—but Ruth knew herself well. She enjoyed her luxuries and her position in society—those things were the reason she had pushed Rose into her unhappy engagement in the first place.

At the same time, though, Ruth also realized that she had no money, few skills, and no idea how to make her way in the world. How could she survive on her own?

"I…I'll have to think about it, Molly," Ruth told her.

Molly studied Ruth for a moment. The grieving woman had told her about her plans to set out on her own, but she wondered if Ruth had any idea just what that entailed, how hard it could be. Molly knew, of course—she had grown up in Hannibal, Missouri, and had worked at various jobs from the time she was a teenager—but Ruth had always had everything handed to her on a silver platter. She didn't know what it meant to work, to struggle—but Molly had no intention of pushing Ruth into anything she didn't want. She knew that Ruth wanted to make a clean start, and Molly had every intention of helping her, whether Ruth chose to accompany her to Denver or stayed in New York.

"I'm not leavin' until noon tomorrow," Molly told her. "Just let me know before then what you decide."

"I will, Molly." Ruth returned to her chair, sinking down and resting her chin in her hands. She had a lot to think about.


End file.
